Halloween Wars
by Night of the Living Monkey
Summary: The Scarecrow has a diabolical plan for Halloween. The Joker has one hundred pounds of stolen bacon.


It's that time of year again. The leaves are changing, pumpkin spice has become god, it gets dark before you're even motivated to do a damned thing, and, of course, Halloween fics are coming out! I'd like to kindly introduce my contribution!

* * *

Over the years, Jonathan Crane had scared most of the fun out of Halloween.

Last year, his grand scheme had been to target costume shops, both those incorporated into larger retailers and those that sprung up like mushrooms in October and blew away with the first snowy breezes of November. He'd laced random costumes with a slow-acting fear toxin—alright, _random_ wasn't quite accurate, he'd poisoned every single Jar Jar Binks and superhero outfit he came across—and then enjoyed the spreading panic on the big night as hallucinating _Star Wars_ characters and made-in-Taiwan Supermen ran screaming in the street.

The year before, he'd taken revenge against those foolish enough to besmirch his image. He'd kidnapped a group of idiot teenagers who'd dressed up as sometimes-sluttier versions of himself and had taught them the error of their ways.

And the year before that... Well, that one Crane didn't talk about, as he'd spent it unconscious and with severe chemical burns on his hands that had taken until Christmas to heal.

Regardless of his past triumphs (and his season-long battle with bandaged hands that would decidedly not be mentioned again), this year he had a plan that would knock the socks off of Gothamites. Or, more accurately, send them tearing off their own socks, as their drugged minds would see harmless clothing as piranhas and snakes.

Grinning at the image of barefooted men, women, and children screaming in the street, Crane loaded the last of the fear toxin into his recently acquired junker. Crane slammed the trunk and then walked to the driver's seat. He sat down, fiddled a bit with the hanging wires that served as a key, and brought the 20-year-old sedan to some sad, zombie semblance of life.

At this late (or obscenely early, depending on how you looked at it) hour, most of Gotham was deserted. Those that were out and about wanted nothing to do with the part of town Crane was headed for, as it boasted not a single bar, strip club, or diseased prostitute of questionable gender.

Though it did have a bakery. A very special bakery. A bakery that had been struggling to keep its head above water for a decade, before stumbling across a miracle in the form of bacon. Though it lost the kosher and halal crowd, the bakery gained specials on Food Network and the undying love of most of Gotham.

And tomorrow, Crane knew, it was going to start pumping out its fall specials. Pumpkin spice _everything_. With bacon, no doubt.

Besides crispy pig fat, Crane had another secret ingredient to add that would induce plenty of heart attacks.

Crane arrived at the bakery without incident. Because unlike many car thieves, he wasn't a complete moron who practically begged to be caught.

Continuing his streak of having a functioning brain, Crane had come prepared to deal with the bakery's security. He'd taken the time to kidnap a worker who wouldn't be icing any donuts until his fractured psyche knitted back together, and had squeezed all the intel he needed from the man. Not that there was a great deal to be squeezed out. This was a bakery, after all, not STAR labs. Still, Crane had learned where the security cameras were positioned, what company provided the alarm system, and, more important than the paltry security, where exactly the baking supplies were located. Because Crane had better things to do while lugging large canisters of poison powder than to wander the halls.

Crane parked his car in the rear of the building, where deliveries were usually received. Unlike many buildings in Gotham, there was no barbwire fence or junkyard dogs stalking the property. Which, Crane supposed, made sense. Those sort of things did tend to intimidate customers in search of cupcakes, and didn't fit with the pink facade.

Happy he didn't have any fences to hop, Crane took a moment to slip on his mask before he walked right up to the back door. Alright, crept. While scoping out the camera that was supposed to be aimed at the loading ramp.

Said camera turned out to be very easy to spot. Some dirty little vandal had done Crane a favor and spray-painted the camera and nobody had yet been roused to either clean it or replace it.

Everything was coming up Scarecrow!

Hoping his run of good luck continued, Crane returned to his vehicle and schlepped the containers of fear toxin from the trunk. He took a quick look around and then scurried up to the loading dock. Pressing himself and his canisters of poison as close to the door as possible, Crane prepared to do some breaking and entering.

Crane reached for the door handle, but stopped with his fingers just shy of it. The door wasn't locked; it wasn't even fully closed. He gave it a light shove and it swung open.

The disabled security camera might have been a lucky break, but the staff conveniently forgetting to properly lock up was too good to be true. Crane was well aware of his position in the universe—namely, underneath its heel—and this many fortunate events simply didn't rain on him.

Something was wrong here. Best explanation, Crane had somehow fallen through a wormhole into an alternate universe where all his plans went off without a hitch. Worst case scenario? Crane really didn't want to find out.

But what were his options? Was he really going to abandon his plan to poison countless Halloween cakes, cookies, and cupcakes because a door hadn't latched? He'd spent days brewing his toxin and choreographing his attack. Wasting that much planning just wasn't economical. Not to mention, he was the Master of Fear! He didn't run away from, of all ridiculous things, a run of good luck!

Leaving his bulky canisters where they were, Crane stepped into the building. The lights were dim, but ambient power kept the loading dock brighter than the night outside.

Crane squinted into this gloom, looking for the two security cameras the worker had warned him about. He found them easier than expected, and for good reason.

They'd both been painted purple.

Crane's mind returned to the vandalized camera outside. It had been painted...green.

This could not be so! It was an invasion, thievery, _blasphemy_! It would be like if, in a revolting sequel to _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ , the denizens of April Fool's Day invaded Halloween Town and befouled everything!

"No, clown, this is my day and I will not have you interfere!"

Scarecrows rushed in where angels, police, the National Guard, and most everyone not Batman feared to tread. There were several halls branching out from the loading dock, and Crane stormed down the one nearest. He vaguely remembered the kidnapped employee explaining where each hall went, and this one was either the refrigerators and freezers or the ovens.

If he hadn't been so blinded by fury, Crane might have stopped to think of all the ways the Joker could ruin his day with either of those options.

His emotions overwhelming both his brain and his survival instinct, Crane burst into a large room. Most everything was chrome and shining. The one exception was a colorful cluster of balloons floating in the corner, blocking another camera. Through the taut skin of the balloons, Crane could see they were filled with more than just helium. Anyone foolish enough to pop those balloons was in for a nasty surprise.

Crane was not that person. He took a minute to check the fridges and freezers, and ascertained that while there were no clowns, there also, mysteriously, wasn't any bacon, either.

Had the Joker honestly gone through all this trouble just to abscond with large quantities of bacon? ...Probably, Crane decided.

There was something very, very wrong with the Joker's head.

There was a possibility the Joker had snatched the pork and retreated home to wrap himself in it or drop it outside a synagogue or whatever debauchery he had in mind for it. Still, Crane needed to be sure he wouldn't run into the clown bathing in frosting or baking himself erotic cakes before he could safely poison whatever the Joker hadn't snatched.

And maybe by the time he was done securing the bakery, the images of the Joker using baking supplies in ways they were never meant to be used would be gone from his brain.

If the Joker was baking filthy cakes, the room with the ovens was the next place to check. Crane proceeded down the hall, crossed the loading dock, and took the path not originally taken.

While Crane's mask did filter air, and therefore did tend to lessen the effect of scents, he highly doubted baking—particularly baking performed by a pyromaniac nutjob with a short attention span—would fail to leave any lingering sweetness or, in the case of fire, bitter smoke. Besides, the ovens, shelves, and floors still looked clean, so Crane was relatively sure the Joker hadn't put on his chef hat.

He'd just, apparently, covered the security camera with a piece of paper. Crane reached up and shifted the paper, trying to see what was printed on the other side of it.

It was a picture of Keanu Reeves on a bus.

"What?" Crane said aloud.

Then it clicked. The movie _Speed_.

For the Joker, that was some high-class referencing.

Crane replaced the paper and left the room. He still needed to check dry ingredient storage, the break room, and, of course, the storefront itself. Might not be a bad idea to check the dumpster out back, because it certainly wasn't above the Joker to go digging there for old donuts.

Deciding he'd leave the dumpster for last, when he went outside to fetch his fear toxin, Crane continued on to the break room. He found a small refrigerator, the last TV in America that wasn't a flat screen, a table and a few chairs, and a microwave. No security camera meant no absurd Joker sign. Crane shut the door to the room and moved on.

The dry ingredients storage was the next stop. Ah, just as Crane expected, this would be where he would plant his poison. The toxin was a white powder, just like flour, baking powder and baking soda. Those were ubiquitous ingredients, ensuring Crane's fear toxin would spread far and wide.

The sooner he finished clearing the bakery, the sooner he could spike the punch, so to speak.

Crane turned to exit stage left and then noticed the camera above the door. Or, rather, noticed the dangling paper blocking the camera's view.

He needed to stand on his tiptoes to reach the bottom of it, which made him wonder how the slightly shorter Joker had managed to reach high enough to tape the paper to the roof. Maybe he'd brought Harley along and had stood on her shoulders, the bastard.

Crane ripped down the paper and turned it around. He nearly threw up in his mask.

The Joker had sat down on a photocopier and scanned his naked backside. He'd then posted it in front of the camera.

"There's an image to haunt my dreams," Crane muttered as he balled the paper up and tossed it.

Trying to pretend the Joker's albino ass was not branded onto his gray matter, Crane hurried from the storage room to the final possible clown hiding place. He stepped through a set of swinging double doors and found himself behind the counter.

And not alone.

"Harley! What's taking so long?!"

"Sorry, Puddin'! But it's _real_ heavy! ...maybe you could help, maybe..."

"Menial labor? Moi? I think not! It's bad enough that I had to disable all the security."

Crane snorted. " _Disable_ is a rather strong term, don't you think, clown?"

The Joker, who had up until that moment been fiddling with a cash register that had probably been emptied of all bills of large denomination, spun on his heels. His grin, always stretched inhumanly wide, somehow bit even deeper into his cheeks.

"Spooky! What are you doing here? Can't wait to get your mitts on some pumpkin spice? Good thing you're here, before every college girl in the city empties the place out," the Joker said.

"Actually, clown, I am here to ensure those college girls, and anyone else with a sweet tooth, gets a trick with their treat."

"Huh, ain't that a coinkydink?"

"Yes, about that... You have no right to intrude on my Halloween plans! Where do you get off-"

"The bed, the floor, the shower, in your closet that one time, under the Mayor's desk-"

"What?! In my closet? How dare you!"

The Joker snorted. "I'm joking, Spooky. Between all the time you spent in the closet, and my stamina, how would Harls and I ever have enough privacy?"

Crane wished he'd brought a gun. And that fear toxin worked on the Joker. And, while he was making wishes, that Harley would come to her senses and smash the Joker's head with whatever was in that large cardboard box she was hauling.

"I don't want to hear any more innuendo. I want you to leave. Take your little jokes to Walmart, where I'm sure your level of comedy will be appreciated."

"Are you insulting the good people of Walmart?" the Joker demanded.

"No, I'm insulting you. You pilfering, trespassing abomination."

"Harley, he's impugning my honor!"

"Sorry, Mr. J, I'm a little busy with the bacon."

The Joker snapped at her, "Can't you do two things at once?"

"I'm already doin' that, remember? I'm takin' the bacon, and I'm addin' happy juice to it."

"'Happy juice'? Quinn, stop that at once! Halloween is a time for fear, not whatever you've got there!"

Harley stopped wrestling with her slippery handful of semi-frozen bacon. "But Mr. J said-"

"Mr. J is not the almighty God of Fear. He has no power in this season."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Spooky."

Crane turned to refute the Joker and was treated to a face full of full frontal. It was infinitely worse than the mere photocopy. Crane howled, covered his eyes, and wished he'd been a star-nosed mole instead of a sighted creature.

While Crane staggered around in mental agony, the Joker shoved Harley out of the way of the bacon box. He grabbed a handful of pork and threw it at Crane's feet. The Scarecrow promptly tripped on the pig fat and landed atop it.

"Looks like even bacon has power over you!" the Joker cackled.

Crane staggered to his feet, wiping bacon off his personage. "So help me clown, you will regret that!"

The Joker pouted. "You know, Spooky, I think you need some of the happy bacon. Harley?" The clown extended his hand.

"But weren't we gonna feed it to everyone in Gotham?" Harley replied.

"Spooky needs some happy more than everyone else. Look at him, he's miserable."

Harley, with some trepidation, handed over three slices of bacon. The Joker frowned at the measly portion (though three slices was, in fact, the suggested serving size) but decided it was enough to at least get a little grin on Crane's face.

Crane had encountered guns, knives, grenades, toxins, and Batarangs, but he never suspected he'd encounter bacon used as a deadly weapon. Leave it to the Joker to ruin America's favorite guilty pleasure. And to ruin it so thoroughly. Crane barely ducked under the clown as he attempted to rip the mask of the Scarecrow's face.

Even if the bacon hadn't been tainted, it was still uncooked and 95% grease, 5% gristle. Crane really liked his arteries free of plaque and his mind free of Joker toxin. As much as he hated surrendering, he could always poison something else, so long as his lips were stretched back to his ears and he wasn't cackling himself to death.

Careful to leap over the mess on the floor, Crane sprinted out of the storefront and back into the workings of the bakery. He didn't turn around to see if the Joker and the remnants of Babe were in pursuit until he was outside. It was only then, when he was panting beside his unused canisters of powdered fear toxin, that Crane looked to make sure he was truly alone.

He was.

Thank the god he didn't believe in.

Crane hefted his fear toxin back to the trunk from whence it had come. Damn the Joker, he'd ruined everything! What's worse, if people did eat his tainted bacon, that would cause mass panic! Damn it all!

The Scarecrow slammed the lid on the trunk. As he trudged to the driver's door, he managed one happy thought. Halloween was still a few days and he did have a killer candy apple recipe.

* * *

Happy Halloween! And thanks for reading!

Ah, and as for the references:

Halal means acceptable according to Islamic dietary restrictions.

 _Speed_ is a movie from the 1990's where a madman threatens to blow up a bus if said bus goes under 50 miles per hour. Said maniac uses the bus' security cameras to monitor its passengers, including a cop played by Keanu Reeves.

Babe is a pig from a movie of the same name. He was good at herding sheep.

The serving size for bacon...varies from package to package and brand to brand. Yeah, you all thought there was going to be some profound wisdom there. Not today!


End file.
